


There Are No Words

by AndreaDTX



Series: Breaking Tradition [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dominant Omega, Edging, Kissing, Knotting, Light BDSM, M/M, Mating Bond, Minor pain play, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Bucky Barnes, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, PWP, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Scenting, Sub Steve Rogers, Submissive Alpha, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 17:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18833239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaDTX/pseuds/AndreaDTX
Summary: Steve's an artist and he knows a picture is worth a thousand words. Bucky loves Steve's art but he spends an afternoon proving that touch is better than pictures OR words.





	There Are No Words

**Author's Note:**

> I started this around January but got stuck. Thought I'd wait for Endgame to see if I could get more ship material... :| So anyway, here it is now!

Steve carefully swipes the last nubby corner of his eraser gum across a wayward line in his drawing, his brow furrowed, his lower lip pinched between his teeth as he tries to get it just right. Tucked into a corner of the sofa, his meager supplies scattered around him, he’s working from memory, trying to recreate the scene in his mind’s eye before it blurs and slips away. He and Bucky had scrimped and saved for weeks until they finally had a whole three dollars between them, more than enough to catch the subway across state to Manhattan to see the sights and visit the Central Park Menagerie. They’d been reading about it in the papers for years, but neither of their families could ever afford to go. Even now it was a luxury bordering on wasteful, but how many people can say they’d been to an honest to goodness zoo?

After seeing it in person, Steve’s hard-pressed to decided which had made a bigger impression on him, actually seeing the real, live, exotic animals he’d previously only read about in books or the fancy architecture, towering, luxury unlike any he’d ever seen before. Today, he’s drawing what he imagines the menagerie might look like from above, maybe if he’d been viewing it from the roof top of an adjacent building. Of course, he’s never seen it from that angle, but therein lies the challenge. He’s carefully sketched the neo-Georgian and limestone brick buildings, wishing he had the colors to make it more true-to-life. He painstakingly took the time to nail the angles the builders had used to arrange the whole thing into a large square with an actual sea lion pool in the center courtyard. Sea lions!

He’s so absorbed in his thoughts and his drawing he doesn’t hear the snick of the key in the lock or the creak swing and click of the front door opening and then closing.

“You smell determined,” Bucky says, suddenly standing by his side.

Startled, Steve yelps and sends a harsh graphite line across the body of the sea lion he’d been working on.

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs, but he doesn’t look particularly shame-faced when Steve shoots him a dirty look. Probably because he’s already told Steve a million times not to sit with his weak ear towards the door.

Steve huffs and clicks his tongue in annoyance. He grabs his eraser gum again, doing his best to rub out the offending slash. He’s facing this particular direction because this angle gives the best light possible this time of day. He’ll just have to work in some shading to hide the shadow the mistake left behind.

“It looks really good,” Bucky reassures him as he takes a seat on the coffee table and leans down to unlace his work boots.

Steve hums a dismissive note in thanks. It’s the same thing he’s said when he came home on Monday to a sketch of their fellow passengers on the subway as they’d ridden the 4thstreet line, Tuesday when he sketched dock workers loading produce into trucks at Washington Market in Lower Manhattan, Wednesday when the sketch was an ant’s eye view of towering skyscrapers, and yesterday when he’d sketched out a group of young boys playing with a pair of tricycles that reminded him of Bucky and himself when they were that age. Bucky likes everything Steve draws even as Steve himself frets about ratio and perspective and shading technique.

Steve’s still hovering in his mental artist zone when Bucky’s hand slides between him and the scrap of butcher paper he’s been using as a canvas. Without saying a word, he takes the drawing and carefully slides it into the book they use to store all of his work, in hopes that the crisp pages of the professionally-bound book will keep his own papers from curling in the humidity. Bucky plucks away the whittled down stub of a pencil, gathers up all the stray supplies, and puts them in the Steve’s small, cardboard art box. When everything is neatly stowed under the coffee table, Bucky turns back towards Steve, takes a deep breath, and grins winningly.

“Hi,” he says, as though they hadn’t already spoken.

Steve looks up and blinks, almost owlishly. Bucky’s barefoot and shirtless, which Steve had somehow missed even though it happened less than a foot away.

Bucky’s bulked up in the handful of years they’ve lived together, his time lugging and carrying down at the docks shaving the last remnants of baby fat from his face and leaving sharp, muscular, masculine angles. If he wasn’t so in love with the jerk, Steve who’s cursed with pale skin and a lanky frame from both illness and having to stay indoors so often, would be jealous. Bucky’s not comparing them. He never has in the past and it’s clearly the furthest thing from his mind right now. His scent is playful, like the cotton candy sweetness of an omega, but tinged with something... edgier. The greeting is a clear transition, a single word to signal that he wants his alpha’s full attention.

“Hi,” Steve affectionately replies back, pulling his feet off the couch and back onto the floor, sitting up as straight as his spine will allow, waiting for Bucky to provide the next clue.

Bucky presses his pointer finger to his mouth in the classic ‘shh’ motion before standing and with a soft tug to his arm, brings Steve to his feet as well. He drops a soft kiss that quickly warps into a plundering, a tangle of tongues. Steve sways just the slightest bit when Bucky pulls away, blushing at Bucky’s knowing chuckle. Steve sucks longingly on his kiss-stung lower lip as Bucky shuffles them until Steve’s standing with his back to Bucky.

The day’s been unseasonably hot, the heat baking the room in the sharp, woodsy smell of Steve’s intense focus, a smell similar to freshly cut lumber. Since about noon, he’s been sitting around in his skivvies, a thread-bare undershirt and thin shorts, trying to stay cool, the small window over the kitchen sink open in futile hope of circulating a breeze. He hadn’t given a single thought to his state of undress until now with Bucky’s hand on the hem of his shorts, resting only briefly before tugging them down over the sharp angles of Steve’s hips, causing them to fall to the floor. Steve moans softly, feeling scandalous standing in the living room in just his t-shirt, completely bare from the waist down. The first strains of want course through his blood as he steps out of the underwear pooled around his ankles.

Bucky softly kicks Steve’s feet apart and then with a warm hand to his shoulder, Bucky nudges until Steve’s bent over, his hands planted on the coffee table.

Steve’s mind races with possibilities.

The most obvious guess is that Bucky will fuck him, _hard_ , slamming inside and riding him until Steve’s helpless to do anything other than give in and melt under him.

Or maybe… maybe Bucky’s gonna finally give Steve the spanking he’s been angling after for weeks. It’s one of Steve’s favorite things which is why Bucky dangles it so often but delivers it so sparingly. The thought alone is enough to rile them both up to smoldering intensity.

Lusty thoughts swirling through his head, Steve groans as his cock twitches and fills as fast as his crummy circulation will allow.

The answer ends up being neither.

Instead, the sofa cushions squeal. Bucky taking a seat, he figures.

Then all logical thought spills out of his head.

Rough hands part the globes of his ass cheeks. A choked gasp tumbles from his mouth with the first wet, warm swipe of Bucky’s tongue.

He whimpers, lips pressed tightly together, knowing how easy it is for Bucky to take him apart like this, how sensitive he is there, nearly painfully so.

Bucky mercilessly takes full advantage, clearly delighting in the desperate, needy noises pouring from his alpha. He licks, laves, sucks, his tongue switching from long, flat swipes to hard, pointed nudges of Steve’s entrance and several toe-curling combinations in between. One particular firm swipe has Steve’s knees threatening to buckle and he has to lock his elbows to stay upright. He shoves his hips back, trying to get more of that devastating sensation. This is rewarded by a sharp, reproachful pinch to the ultra-sensitive skin where his buttocks and his thigh meet.

“Be still,” Bucky pulls back for scant seconds to demand, his strong fingers squeezing the flesh of Steve’s ass a bit harder in firm echo.

Steve whines plaintively, trying to calm his squirming. Easier said than done. Bucky’s giving him no quarter. His tongue presses firm and wet against Steve’s entrance, prodding the muscle to relax and open. It flutters, simultaneously trying to resist and give in, sending painfully pleasurable shocks through Steve’s lower body.

“Bucky, please…” he moans.

Another sharp pinch has him biting the inside of his cheeks as he struggles to stay silent and still as commanded. It gets progressively more difficult as Bucky’s sloppy, warm tongue moves down from his hole, licks across his taint, and slides down his sac to suck one of Steve’s testicles into his mouth.

“Oh!” Steve gasps in surprise. He twitches, half expecting another pinch, but nothing comes. Maybe the exclamation hadn’t counted as talking. He doesn’t really have the wherewithal to examine the thought before it floats away, his head dizzy with how amazing this all feels, being taking in, enveloped in a way he’s never experienced before.  Then Bucky’s left hand slides over Steve’s hip to grip his cock, pulling away only long enough to come back with Vaseline, thick and viscous in his palm as he starts to work the column of flesh that’s embarrassingly only semi-hard despite how amazing Bucky’s touch has been up to this point. Steve opens his mouth to apologize, trying to gather himself enough to scrape together the words that’ll cover for his sub-par physical response, but remembers at the last second that he’s not allowed to talk and swallows back the words.

Bucky never wants to hear them anyway. Says Steve’s body is perfect the way it is and he won’t be convinced otherwise.

The single brain cell in Steve’s head still capable of higher-level thinking belatedly realizes this had probably been Bucky’s plan all along, setting rules that don’t allow Steve to bad mouth his own body.

Fortunately, those same rules save him from having to admit out loud that just maybe there’s a method to Bucky’s madness.

Determined to be good, Steve lets himself fall into Bucky’s touch, the wicked heat of Bucky’s mouth at his balls, the torturous friction of the hand working him to greater hardness, pulling him further and further under his Dom’s sway. The sweet scent of omega slick is swelling and swirling, engulfing the room, proof that Steve’s far from the only one getting off on this. He lets his mouth fall open so he can better swallow the sugary smell, taste it on his tongue, drown in it.

Which is why Steve’s completely helpless to stop his reaction when a single finger forcefully pushes into his body without warning.

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, his back arching as he tries to lift into that touch, wanting more even as his body aches to slow down.

The hand that’s been stroking his cock shifts abruptly and delivers a sharp pinch directly to the head. The bright, sudden sting of pain jerks a shriek from him and for a split second he nearly breaks out of position, only avoiding the mistake at the last possible moment. He viciously bites his tongue against the apology he instinctively wants to blurt out for displeasing Bucky even as his body twists and strains to simultaneously adjust to the burning intrusion in his channel and the tiny but throbbing pain in his dick. Instead, he chokes out a pitiful, pained groan and spreads his legs farther, showing without words that his body is Bucky’s to do with as he wishes. The pinpoints of hurt clash and swirl with the crashing swell of arousal that overwhelms him at giving in so fully, submitting so completely.

Bucky pauses, seems to consider the offering, a spider studying a fly. And then he moves.

Steve’s breath hitches sharply. There’s a sudden, keen edge of danger as the testicle that had been tucked in the sultry heat of Bucky’s mouth is now balanced on the sharp edges of his teeth, just enough pressure to make the unspoken threat of a bite clear and ever-present. Steve trembles but refuses to waver. His bodily tremors strengthen to shakes but he doesn’t pull away from the challenge.

The next stretch is a test of contradictions. Bucky fingers Steve, working, stretching, rubbing, blowing his mind, tempting him to move, to grind back, to push into the touch, all the while keeping his alpha still and on edge with the sharp threat of teeth, contrasted by teasing, tantalizing swipes of tongue, and compounded by sporadic, sharp pinches to Steve’s cockhead. Soon, Steve’s a mess, his cock fully hard and pre-cum dripping in big, tear drop rivulets, his alpha growl trapped in his throat as he fights to keep the pleas locked inside.

Finally, Bucky seems sated and without word or warning returns to the sweet, soft touches of before, tonguing at Steve’s sack, sucking in one then the other as his hand strokes Steve's cock in full, long glides and his fingers push and drag at Steve's inner walls in a way that sends shivers across his skin and makes the little body hair he has stand on end.

The sudden tenderness shoves Steve to the very edges of his limits. He’s squirming and gasping, fighting his own pleasure to be good for Bucky who sucks even harder, his fingers fucking Steve with more force, more pressure, slamming pleasure across his nerves with every thrust, a flood that threatens to wash him away.

Bucky keeps going until Steve lets out a stuttering gasp and his hips give in to the first rolling thrust of his rutting motion.

Bucky stops.

Steve whimpers pitifully, his body trembling on the precipice of an unrequited promise. _Please,_ is curled at the tip of his tongue, locked behind his clenched teeth.

“Stand up,” Bucky orders.

Steve takes one shaky breath and then another. Then he straightens, swaying only for a moment. Bucky kisses him, sloppy, sucking kisses that don’t really feel soothing in the moment, but force his body to slow down, back away...

When Steve can finally breathe again, Bucky murmurs in his ear.

“Good boy.”

With a tug to Steve’s hips, Bucky pulls him into his lap.

“Oh,” Steve gasps softly as Bucky pushes firmly into his body, the heat of his shaft almost burning, the girth as welcoming as it is challenging.

Bucky slides in to the hilt and then stops.

Without thought, Steve plants his feet on the couch, the way that would allow him to ride and work his hips even in this position, a way they’ve played often before.

Bucky shoves Steve’s heels from the couch, taking away all of his leverage, leaving him draped across Bucky’s body.

He moves them so they’re laying horizontal across the couch, Steve on top of Bucky, his legs strewn to either side. Bucky moves Steve’s hand, one then the other, so they’re clasped around Bucky’s neck, furthering the stretch of Steve’s body. Steve immediately takes advantage of it, working his palms against Bucky’s scent glands, grunting when Bucky’s cock forcefully jerks inside of him. It’s kind of a backfire, but he does it until Bucky stays his motion with a soft touch of his hand. They lie there, motionless for a long moment until Bucky bends his knees, his legs protruding between Steve’s splayed ones. It jostles Steve and he moans. Bucky gives a single thrust, then another. A hand runs across Steve’s nipples, flicks, pinches, pulls, rubs. Another thrust and the hand slides down, gives a few tight strokes to Steve’s needy cock, massages his balls, rubs for a few maddening moments at his sensitive knot skin, almost tauntingly, before it slides up the column of flesh to gather the beading pre-cum. Another hard thrust of the hips. Again. Again. Again. All the while teasing, milking Steve for his essence. The finger, slick and sloppy, comes up to Steve’s mouth, presses between his lips, feeds him his own flavor which he laps up willingly, wantonly, whining when the finger draws away and opening enthusiastically when it returns with more. The cycle continues until Steve’s is writhing.

“Can… Can I… Gonna…” Steve whines softly in warning, his body twitching, straining against the onslaught.

“No,” Bucky says sharply with a sharp pinch to the inside of Steve’s thigh. Steve gasps and clenches around the hard flesh buried inside of him.

Bucky pinches several more times, not because Steve did anything wrong, but because he seems to like the way Steve clenches around him in reaction to the small pain.

“Keep your legs open,” Bucky demands, reinforcing the command with a press of his hands against Steve’s thighs.

Steve complies without a word, his shallow, panting breath its own answer, as he strains to spread his thighs further, the tendons of his skinny thighs pressing in stark relief against his pale skin. Wanting Bucky to… to give him anything… he’d take anything…

Waiting, waiting, on the cusp of something great but always just out of reach.

Bucky sits up and shifting Steve to a more upright position.

A whine slips out of Steve as they move, the new position placing even more pressure and friction on his sensitive insides.

“Lean forward,” Bucky orders softly. “Steady yourself on my legs.”

Steve obeys, planting his hands against Bucky’s shins. A slight press of Bucky’s hand against the small of Steve’s back jerks a hissing moan from Steve as the forced stretch tightens his channel around Bucky while simultaneously increasing the pressure on his prostate.

“You should see it from my end,” Bucky murmurs in response to Steve’s needy sounds. “Tight, little hole, shiny and pink, split around my cock.”

Steve gasps when Bucky’s callused fingers touch down softly in the small of his back, scraping past the nearly-painfully sensitive nerves at the crack of his ass, down the valley to trace the soft, thin skin that clings around Bucky’s hardness. He rubs and rubs until Steve chokes on a desperate sob of pleasure, his body clenching and releasing helplessly, demandingly, his fingers digging into Bucky’s legs as he tries to stay still and obey Bucky’s command rather than his own body which is pushing him to grind and ride.

“Please, sir,” he pleads softly even as he knows his wish won’t be fulfilled. Not yet.

Bucky touches and rubs and caresses for long minutes, steadfastly refusing to thrust the way Steve wants, trying to coax Steve to the edge with subtle touch.

And damned if it isn’t working.

Steve hangs there, carefully still, taking slow deep breaths as his body centers all his focus on the feeling of fullness and that teasing touch around his rim. The pleasure is undulating, building, roiling through his gut, tugging at his balls.

Just when he’s nearly convinced he’s gonna cum like this, Bucky stops and pulls Steve back, flat against Bucky’s chest. Steve’s cock is flush against his belly, reddish-purple and trembling.

“Hands under your thighs.”

Steve complies, his hands now sandwiched between Bucky’s and his own.

Bucky glances over Steve’s shoulder, down his torso, and seems to break a little, giving several hard thrusts before pulling himself back under control.

“So fucking hot,” he mutters into Steve’s nape. And whatever leash had been on his tongue before is magically gone.

He whispers to Steve, pure filth about hot he feels, how tight he is, what he wants to do to Steve next, pinches at Steve’s nipples. Then his hand lowers and grabs Steve’s shaft in a grip that’s nearly as familiar to Steve as his own.

Steve swallows whimper of excitement. This is it.

Bucky strokes Steve off, stopping any time Steve moves or tightens up, a silent reminder of the rules they're playing by, but nevertheless moving them both undeniably towards completion. He sucks, licks, and bites at Steve’s gland, thrusting up into his alpha until neither of them can stand anymore.

With a desperate howl, Steve finally cums, shooting all over himself and Bucky’s hand, making a mess of them both.

“ _Oh, fuck,_ ” Bucky bites out before forcefully bending Steve in half and railing him until Bucky tenses and wet heat fills Steve. It’s so breathtaking that Steve's completely caught off guard when the angle and pressure and friction force him over the edge again and with a barely a tingle of warning, his knot pops.

“Fuckin’ shit,” Steve groans, breaking the rules of their game to prop himself up and grab his cock, working his entire shaft to ease his body through the unexpected knotting.

Still trembling, Bucky lays his own hand over Steve’s, tightening his grip almost painfully to provide the constriction Steve needs, since Steve’s grip can be kinda weak especially when he’s already been wrung through the wringer physically.

When Steve finally collapses, covered in his own spend but completely sated, Bucky tries to apologize. Steve waves it off.

“You don’t have to apologize for making me knot,” Steve says with tired but fond chuckle. “Do you know how many hours I spent humping a sleeve trying to do that same thing when I was going through rut alone? If anything, I want an apology for you being able to make me knot without even meaning to.”

Still, he must be feeling a little guilty because he’s nearly pliant except for the tight grip of his hand around the knot as Steve takes over and rides Bucky to another orgasm. He murmurs encouragement, pushing Steve to hoard the stimulation he needs to find relief when his knot’s extended, when his body’s not quite ready to be done. A few minutes after the third orgasm, Steve’s knot finally starts to soften. They shift, separating as little as necessary, Bucky using his t-shirt to clean some of their mess but doing a terrible job.

He tries to apologize again, but Steve’s not having it.

“Seriously. No apologies,” Steve says with a nip at Bucky’s gland. “When have I ever cum three times in the same afternoon? That’s gotta be a record for us. Maybe we can use some kinda knot tie or something next time so I’ll have the pressure around the base in case I start to feel like I might pop, but otherwise, I loved it, every second of it.”

Bucky groans at the thought and pulling Steve into a hug as exhaustion starts to tug at him. “That filthy mouth is why I didn’t let you talk. You could talk a eunuch into a wet dream with those kinda thoughts.”

Steve snorts and curls up, small and snug in his omega's arms, as they both start to fade, the silence tugging them into sleep.


End file.
